Dreams of Love and Hope
by Kayi Rowling
Summary: Had Vesca Howell and Leon Orcot been able to get out of the garden floor, what would have D and his father talked about?
1. Introduction

**Dreams of Love and Hope**

_**Kayi Rowling**_

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_Summary:_

Had Vesca Howell and Leon Orcot been able to get out of the garden floor,  
what would have D and his father talked about?

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_**Pet Shop of Horrors**__ / spoilers volume 10_

_**Shin Pet Shop of Horrors**__ / vague spoilers for first two volumes' sidestories_

_**PG-13**__ —_ _Drama, Romance, Humor, Angst_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Pet Shop of Horrors and Shin Pet Shop of Horrors belong to Matsuri Akino._

_**Warning:**__ From canon to speculation. Shounen-ai. Blood, moderate violence. Inspired by Japanese doujinshi._

_**Speculation: **__Pairings: __Papa D and Vesca Howell, D and Leon Orcot. Hints to kami physiology. Family relationships: D, Papa D, Sofu D._

_**Hypothesis warning:**__ No particular hypothesis going on, just a bunch of shounen-ai speculation, and the breaking of the canon... as if _that_ wasn't enough, really!_

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_**"Introduction,"**__ or the Author's Notes:_

Hello! Welcome to another _Pet Shop of Horrors_ story, written by me (Kayi Rowling), a rather recent addition to the _Pet Shop of Horrors_ fandom.

This was initially a one-shot, but I went over the normal limit in word count for one… So I split it into two chapters and one epilogue; hopefully, it'll make reading the story more easy and enjoyable. Anyways, I have worked for a long while in this, mostly in alpha and beta reading and editing. I thank Trappersgirl for her support on this!

And so, let me tell you, I liked this story a lot. I hope you will too, and that you'll take your time to review it as well when you finish.

**Read & Enjoy & Review!**


	2. Love

_**Love**_

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_It was hopeless…_

No matter how much knowledge and practice he possessed on first aid care, a _human_ might be an animal, but it wasn't the same thing, not by a long shot, and it would never be. Otherwise, they wouldn't be deserving of their revenge, would they? As spirits of Nature, they protected her children… Humans were no longer that. They had renounced to their right and gift, their duty and bond long ago, when they had ceased to live within her embrace in peace and harmony.

_Was that the reason behind his current inability to help Leon?_

He had already tended to his minor injuries; bandaged them, even. Yet his leg was still bleeding as if it was a fountain, and he could only imagine how he had gotten such deep wound, and what could come from it: it could become infected, it could have been poisoned, it could have torn a vein and so many other vital points to pieces… or maybe all of them. Possibilities were endless, yet the time to solve them was not.

"Oww!" he winced. "Give it a rest already!" Leon pulled his arm away, and D could see how the bandages became tinted with red. "Aah! That hurts… Damn."

«Idiot.» Definitely, healing animals was easier in every way. Still, he suddenly realized—

"So it really happened?" the detective muttered, though it seemed it was just an unconscious extension of his inner turmoil, instead of something they should concern themselves with. "I was still hoping this was some sort of nightmare."

—he suddenly realized he cared more for the human right now than he had ever cared for his wounded animals in the past. He always knew what could happen from certain injuries, and he accepted his pets' fate. Yet he was fighting for Leon's end to be different, devoid of further pain and misery. He just didn't deserve this suffering… and death was not an option.

_Humans had a name for this emotion, which he had always claimed to be unable to feel._

"He's tougher than I thought." Just like his father, to chirp something insane and stupid when he should keep quiet. "Intuitive, as well. So this is why you kept him at your shop." Not a question; he _truly_ was assuming things were as simple as Leon's resemblance to an animal.

On top of that, he was disregarding the humans' capacity to understand his words, being downright impolite… "Father!" D indignantly yelled back at him. He could see the smirk hidden underneath the open hand fan; he was doing it intentionally, provoking them all, taunting for his own sick amusement.

He turned back to Leon, letting his father's attention to go back to the glaring Agent Howell. That was unnerving too, their behavior and those _looks_ with a thousand of concealed meanings, but it was tolerable, unlike his father's speech.

_Still, he knew of what was happening between the pair, as it happened at every encounter between himself and Leon._

Suddenly, he didn't want to meet the detective's eyes ever again. Whatever it took him, he'd have him gone forever, before the human became willing to throw his life away for him, as had Howell for his father. He knew he would never be able to truly appreciate such a sacrifice, and that he would be the one Leon's soul claimed was to blame for being showed at a path with no happiness at the end.

_He wouldn't take that either._

D focused on the young American's wounds again, vaguely nauseated by the way the blood clung to everything, but left his own hands pristine as he worked. He was so different and otherworldly all of a sudden… And Leon was in a _very real_ danger, which he now understood he didn't have the power to avoid. He would do better if he was treated by his own kind, instead of a being who wasn't even remotely human, and should _despise_ him, instead of be helping him.

He turned to face Agent Howell, and had to touch his shoulder gently as he was ignored, the man's eyes fixed on his father's; out of the corner of his own eyes, he saw how his only parent tensed, frowning at the contact with obvious disapproval, slightly increasing the speed at which he was fanning himself. As the older American man looked down at him, D sighed.

_It was all so terribly difficult…_

"Take him to the hospital, Mr. Agent," he said evenly, his hand still upon Leon's knee. "I must speak with my father," he added, to mask his true concern, letting his hand drop to his own lap. He knew the aforementioned _had_ to be amused over such a _lame_ lie, smirking behind his fan, but he just couldn't show such a weakness openly to the humans.

Howell, fortunately for D, complied. "Okay," he muttered. He rose to his feet, tall and strong, even for his age, and he wondered for a second or two if Leon would manage to be like that if he survived to be old enough… "Hey, stand up."

He took Leon's arm and flung it over his shoulders, helping the younger man to his feet. "Oww…" D couldn't help it, and he looked up to meet the detective's blue eyes; disbelief shone in them, as bright as stars in a moonless night.

Rising as well, keeping his posture straight and regal, he clasped his hands at his front. «I _care,_ Mr. Detective… I care _so much,_ Leon… my Leon.»

_And he wished he didn't, even more than he cared for the human, if that was possible._

He heard the sound of a fan being snapped shut, and he turned to look at his father. His smirk was cruel, no longer hidden, and his violet eyes were lighted by malice. "Have you forgotten? Only we can operate the elevator," he called at the retreating men, loud enough to ensure they understood his words clearly. The warning was for them to get, yet there was an underlying tone of mockery that he threw directly at his son.

The pair stopped mid-step, and Leon winced audibly as he was forced to momentarily use his wounded leg for support. "Is that so?" Agent Howell muttered, glancing over his shoulder.

"I will start it for you," D offered before he could stop himself. «Leon needs to get medical attention as soon as possible…» He threw a glare at his father, who was now frowning almost imperceptibly. «And _you_ aren't going to stop that from happening. You have already done _enough._» He had thrown the detective into that garden of living nightmares, after all.

_It was his father's fault, the human's critical state._

As D walked over to their side, his father rose from his own seat, throwing his shut hand fan away. They barely noticed the chaos it made as it collided with the tea tray upon a little table, sending the china tea pot to a rather nasty end at the floor, where it shattered into a thousand pieces and let its rich, fragrant liquid content soak the surface. His father's stride took him over the mess without noticing, though, apparently taken over by unreasonable ire.

He reached out, and he managed to catch D's wrist in an iron grip with a single hand. "My dearest son, this is _my_ home; it would do you well to remember," he said, all fake sweet tones and smiles. "It is _rude_ to dismiss my guests like that. And to use the elevator without my permission as well."

"God, he's just trying to _help—!_"

"Then do it _yourself,_" D growled, interrupting Agent Howell, predicting, through his similitude with Leon, and his own to his father, that this would get exhaustingly long if allowed to proceed, and knowing the detective would appreciate it better if his leg was treated anytime this week.

His father seemed taken aback by such an order, eyes widening slightly, lips sealed shut. He sought his son's eyes for something D himself didn't know he might possess. Yet, considering all parallelisms, he _surely_ had… and it was found, scarce seconds later. Something his father had felt himself, he realized.

Dark lips parted, violet eyes strangely unexpressive so suddenly: "Understood." D's turn to be surprised, as he was released, and his father walked past the humans, his voice polite: "Follow me, gentlemen," guiding them to the elevator then.

Agent Howell glared, grunted something, yet tugged Leon along. The detective cursed aloud as he nearly tripped and fell on his wounded leg, barely kept up by the older man, whilst D's father walked on ahead. "Language, Mr. Detective," D whispered at his retreating back.

_He would miss him, his Leon…_

Q-chan chose that moment to reappear, after he went off to survey the garden whilst D had tended to the young American. The little bat rabbit landed upon his shoulder, and rubbed his little furry cheek against D's own, drying a lonely tear that had escaped his golden eye. The comfort his pet offered was accepted with gratitude and warm affection, expressed by a long finger that gently caressed the small head between the tiny horns, eliciting a happy squeak.

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_Did it always have to end this way?_

Never particularly happy about anything since his youth, D worked the elevator's control panel into not requiring his constant input of orders, so it would take the humans to the lobby without problems. Vesca kindly stood against one of the doors, tricking the sensors and keeping them wide open, while the detective sat against one of the crystal walls, pale after bleeding copiously for nearly half an hour.

"Doesn't cease to amuse me," he whispered, smirking. Vesca grunted as a way to prompt him to explain himself. "The detective is strong, not only _highly attractive._" He _had_ to turn and look at the agent straight at his face, not to lose any second of the priceless expression that had taken it over. The Orcot guy just made a disapproving noise, which was not as enjoyable as Vesca's deep frown. He _nearly_ chuckled. "I still prefer my little penguin over any alley cat," he purred, summoning a deep blush this time.

"God, you two should _get a room_ already!" The pair glared at the young detective.

"How rude!" D exclaimed, feigning to be highly offended. "No wonder you were never invited to one by my son…" Vesca had the decency to remain quiet, while the detective threw his way a rather long string of assorted curses.

_How easy and fun it was to make humans become so flustered!_

"Are you going to get that thing working anytime this millennium, D?"

"Are you so eager to get away from me, Vesca?" he taunted this time, letting his long hair fall as a curtain and obscuring the sight of the other two. "I thought you were hunting me down."

He could tell the agent was craving a cigarette; he had started that self-destructive habit around the time he had left Albany without a word, and, by the _smell_ of it, hadn't even tried to stop since. The detective was no better… "I'm coming back to arrest you as soon as I drop this kid by the hospital," he said gruffly.

"I'm not a kid!"

"Of course you're not, Detective Orcot," D said patronizingly. "And Vesca, it is unwise to say those things to your target; they tend to pack up and vanish in a poof, didn't you know? Smoke and all," he added, making a gesture of hand magic dismissively.

"Unless you're planning to level the building to the ground, or to start on the tobacco, I doubt there'll be any smoke," Vesca replied in a barely audible voice, and D knew the detective hadn't heard. "So you're leaving again?" he asked casually, finally finding his cigarettes and lighter.

"Don't smoke in my presence. And yes, I'm leaving."

_He still didn't want to, though. He had never wanted to leave in the first place…_

The agent chuckled. "This isn't precisely indoors, and you aren't pregnant, so it doesn't matter." He lighted the cigarette, and blew the first cloud of smoke in his direction. How disrespectful! "Besides, who knows when we might see each other again," he whispered lowly, keeping it as a secret conversation between them. D focused on the panel, which still beeped its disagreement.

"You want me to remember your probability for lung cancer until then?" he asked disdainfully.

"A visit at the hospital wouldn't be bad."

«I wish you hadn't already accepted such a fate.» Even if it hurt to admit it, he didn't want Vesca to die in that way, bound to a hospital bed and connected to countless machines, even if he never got to see it with his own eyes. He preferred to bring him down _right now,_ behead and dismember him, then burn the remains to ashes he could place in a convenient little sandalwood box, which he'd keep hidden inside his pillow. «That way, you wouldn't be able to _whine_ about how I'm always so far away. I'd sleep over you every night.» He actually chuckled at the thought.

"What are you laughing at, D?" Vesca growled, reaching out to grasp him by the hair, yet he moved just in time to avoid the sharp tug that was coming. He looked up at him, and the panel finally emitted a ‹ping.›

_The humans could leave the garden of nightmares now._

«I wish…» His vision was blurring, though he didn't know why it should. The agent was making such a _weird face_ he would have found hilarious at any other time, yet—"You may go now," he said weakly, closing his eyes. "Take Orcot to the hospital; make sure he's well tended to, Vesca." After all, his son had cared _so much;_ his concern had passed on to him the moment he'd found that emotion within his soul.

"D?" He slapped the seeking hand away, and he walked out of the elevator. As he passed by the agent, who still stood by the doors and was keeping them open, he lightly touched his shoulder.

"You said I'm _not,_ but, I assure you, I _am._" His violet eyes met a livid face when they lifted. "We don't work the same way. Just _look._" He patted Vesca's shoulder, as he had the last time he had seen him at the university, and then he pushed him lightly out of the sliding doors' path.

"Hey, what the hell—?"

_The human was confused, because he couldn't understand. And, to be honest, neither could he._

"Orcot!" D called, and the half-conscious detective's blue eyes fixed themselves on him, still bright and full of energy. «Strong and enduring, indeed.» He would heal of his wounds, and his youth would just help the process along… "Beware of what you will find shall you seek my son out," he purred, smirking. "You might end up like _Howell_ over there: lonely, bitter, old… _and sexually frustrated._"

Vesca's expression made his day, and its memory would kindle his dawns and be the laugh of his dusks for the rest of his life, that was for sure. "_Why, you little—!_" The doors chose that moment to close themselves and become_ locked…_ at least, until the elevator reached the lobby. "_Hey!_"

"Until death brings us together again, Vesca Howell." Because, truly, he didn't have any plans to see him once more. After all, humans were _so ugly_ when they were old, and he preferred the memories of his penguin when he was young and so full of life and joy. «And we have yet to find repentance for meeting each other, don't we?»

D sighed, picking up a strand of his long hair and twisting it around his long, graceful fingers. As he saw the digital display above the elevator doors' frame change to the number of three floors below, he smiled brightly and twirled on his heels, going off to find his son and grant his supposed wish to speak to him in private.

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He had already picked up the broken pieces of the tea pot, lamenting such a beautiful thing had shattered; the pattern imprinted upon it was exquisite, and he could tell the pot was old, probably an antique from his native China. Considering the hand fan he had dried up _was_ a Chinese antique, he wouldn't put it past his father to have acquired a whole set of curiosities just because he _could_ afford it on his own accord, without depending on his grandfather's rather impressive bank account.

D had to admit that, even though he was as crazy as could be, his father had achieved many things that were amazing on their own, and that, if compared with the rest of their family, he was the one who'd been the closest to being _free._ It had taken his sanity away, but he never seemed worried about it, even when knowing.

_In the worst cases, he seemed to be enjoying it, actually._

Not that he wanted to follow his steps, of course! Not even in a thousand years… He preferred his grandfather's ideals, regardless of how stressful it could become to just stand back and watch as everything unraveled before him. He'd occasionally be the judge of humankind's sins, the executor of what the divine will and their own eternal grudge dictated, yet it wasn't as _thrilling_ as it had once being; they were always the same, and the punishment followed along the same lines as well…

And suddenly it was _too tempting,_ so he decided to search for another tea pot and prepare some jasmine tea… with ten spoons of sugar, at least. Any task would keep his mind away from allowing him to be led astray and out of the rightful path: the end of the human race. They deserved it, after all, with those perpetually bloodstained hands of theirs, since birth and beyond death, and their wicked thoughts and desires.

Q-chan sat by the sugar bowl, spoon held by both little paws, his black eyes, streaked by and ringed in golden, following D as he went about making the tea. He kept quiet, except for the occasional flutter of his bat wings, whenever the wind coming from the missing wall hit too hard. D vaguely wondered if his pet was concerned, not failing to notice his hands trembled whenever he held something.

«It's just the sugar.» The thought wasn't consoling in the very least; he had the vague suspicion that he was lying to _himself._ «It's been too many things for a single day, and I have yet to eat something _decent._» Agent Howell had just covered the very basics of his need, after all, probably knowing, from meeting his father, that they shouldn't be starved as they could do with humans, animals, or plants. They should be pampered as well, but that was something he just _plainly refused_ to receive from anyone but _Leon_ nowadays, and—

_It wouldn't hurt to put some more effort into forgetting, would it?_

When it wasn't one thing, it had to be the other, really! In his momentary anger, he nearly broke one of the delicate teacups, along with its saucer. Q-chan squeaked in alarm, but quieted down with a gesture of his hand. "Nothing happened, don't worry," he said with a little smile. "I was just… careless."

He went around the couch and found a wooden cabinet. From it, he took out another tea pot, and he looked for jasmine among all the different teas his father possessed; why he had _medicinal_ kinds stored here, he ignored. They didn't get _ill,_ after all, and the garden remained untouched, since there were _never_ visitors… Well, _never,_ until now: Leon, Agent Howell, and D himself. It seemed like a private space, a personal haven of his father's; the Nature held within would be enough to alleviate any discomfort, so the medicinal teas made even _less sense._

And they were mostly bitter as well. Which brought to attention another little detail: his father didn't keep sweets or pastries of any kind, asides from the simple sugar bowl back at the table. Seemed he'd have his tea without any treats this time…

The tea was ready scarce minutes later, and he served one cup for himself, and the other for his father… Or, at least, that's what he told himself after he found he had one too many teacups; it was the habit, of receiving his detective at the pet shop. Mixing ten spoonfuls of sugar in each, he calmly sat down, sipping the slightly warm drink, deciding to stop thinking about the past, and that he should focus his mind on the future.

When he was out of the garden, and away of his father, what would he do? Where would he go, along with the pet shop? Would he attempt to write to his grandfather, to the last address he had sent him mail from, risking he wasn't there anymore? He had many things to plan; it was also the first time he had to do it on his own… And he should be thankful of this small pause in the chaos of moving on and away, of the peace of rest before returning to his duty—"_Son!_"

_Not so enjoyable all of a sudden. Not anymore._

D glanced over the rim of the teacup he held, and he saw his father as he returned, smiling in that over-enthusiastic way of the insane when on a good mood. «He didn't throw them at the garden again, did he?» Somehow, he felt suspicions arise within him, as the long haired male sighed and sat down besides him, reaching out for his own tea, which sat besides Q-chan upon the table.

"Oh, tea!" he exclaimed happily. "Thank you, my son; you're so kind." After the first taste, though, he lowered the cup, frowning and closing his eyes. "_Jasmine?_"

"It's the one I prefer," D declared. "Father—"

"So does your grandfather…" he interrupted and trailed off, summoning back his smile and looking at his son as if he was the most beautiful thing in the Universe. "How have you been, now that you run the pet shop without him?"

D sighed, closing his eyes as he felt how his father shifted on the seat and got _closer_ to him, a slender hand upon his elbow a second later. He didn't like that of his only parent: _clinginess,_ that's what he had… "I've been well, father. But, I'm sure, you already know that, don't you?"

"Are you accusing me of _something,_ my beloved son?" his father teased, leaving his tea on the table and reaching out with his free hand to play with the hair that fell over D's right eye.

"Stalking," he sighed as his father held back a _giggle._ "You knew of the detective, and of his little brother." He still felt uncomfortable with _just imagining_ his parent had such knowledge; having figured out it was _true_ when he last called was _dreadful._ "And of the fate of the orangutan you sent me." That poor creature… Innocent, if not naïve, just a tool of his father's to cause suffering.

The older of the pair smirked, violet eyes mischievous in their seeking glance, which swept his features for things to further his amusement. "Oh, _that._" Somehow, he managed to get even closer, pressing his body against his son's side. "Well, I was worried about you!" he exclaimed dramatically. "After your grandfather left you all alone at the pet shop, I couldn't find rest, be it day or night; you're still _so young…_" he whispered against his cheek, and he tensed. "I _obviously_ had to do something about it!" a quick peck; it sent shivers up and down his spine. "I had to know how you were doing, who visited, who left, who called, who sent you things—"

"You're _deluded,_" he muttered, turning his face away, hearing a small sound of disappointment coming from the very back of his father's throat; _that_ close he was right then.

_The yearning for affection tends to be a maddening disease, after all._

His father chuckled. "Am I?" He let go of his son's elbow, and placed his own against the back of their shared seat, supporting the side of his head on his hand. "So says Vesca Howell," he whispered weakly. "He was always rather… _bizarre_ with his choice of compliments."

"That was _not_ a compliment."

"So says he." D sighed, vaguely annoyed. He leant back, arms crossed over his chest, and Q-chan came flying to rest upon his shoulder, opposite from his father. "Oh, that's a cute little _chimera_ on your shoulder!" Q-chan squeaked in protest. "Where did you acquire him, son?" the long haired male asked, whilst teasing the bat rabbit with a lock of hair over D's head.

"Father, _stop._" Reaching out, he slapped his father's hand away, and then he petted Q-chan on his tiny head. "Grandfather sent him to me after he left," he added, after a moment of uncomfortable silence. «And he's a _Valvertinger,_ not a _chimera._»

"Did he?" His father didn't sound as interested as he probably wished he did. "I didn't know we were allowed to keep personal pets," he declared with false wonderment. "Seems your grandfather is finally leaving the old ways," Q-chan squeaked again. "Though I'd prefer a _penguin_ over a chimera any day."

D gazed into his father's violet eyes intently. "Are you referring to the _human?_"

"Which human?"

"_Agent Howell._" He knew it to be true.

His father looked taken aback for a second or two, yet he recovered, bringing along another smirk. "Oh, don't be silly, my son. I like _beautiful, youthful_ things," he reached out with his hand to caress D's jaw and cheek. He lifted himself by putting his knee upon the cushion, leaning forward, keeping D from moving his head away by resting his hand underneath his son's chin while his long fingernails pressed against delicate skin, threatening to cut through, "such as you…" he breathed, lips not an inch away from his son's.

_Surprisingly enough, he was enthralled by his father's eyes, mirrors of a soul already broken, like his, which was still falling apart…_

Q-chan flew to grasp at his father's hair with his tiny paws; the bat rabbit pulled, causing him to screech in fury, more than pain, as well as get up from on top of his son. The hand that was going to slap the flying creature away was _bitten,_ and—"Q-chan!" D called for his pet, which obeyed after biting the graceful and slender hand once more. He flew back to poise himself upon his shoulder, huffing at his father, golden fur bristled.

"This may become infected," his father muttered, analyzing his hand, two tiny bites marring his otherwise perfect skin with a reddish tone, yet no blood. He lifted his gaze to glare at Q-chan. "Wait here," he ordered, before he walked away, getting lost among the lush plant life of his garden.

D frowned at his retreating back, not sure if he should be mad, or worried.

«Either way, I should get going.» If it was going to become as conflictive as it had right now, he was better off leaving, going back to the road, heading towards the East along with the pet shop and all the souls that lived within.

Yet—

«What will father do?» He couldn't stay, that was for sure; Agent Howell was still out there, taking Leon to the hospital right now, but then… «He will come back after my father.»

Walking over to the spot where he had left his suitcase, he brought it over to the couch, reaching for Q-chan, whom he placed on top of it. The little creature looked at him in confusion, tilting his head to the side in that cute manner only he could manage.

"Guard this for a moment, please," D asked. "I must go speak with my father…" Q-chan protested, batting his wings. "I _need_ you to take care of the suitcase; my only treasure is within. It is important, Q-chan."

The bat rabbit seemed to consider for a moment, before he nodded with its tiny head. His look of worry didn't leave, though, still haunting those black eyes with golden gleams. Over his shoulder, D saw how he settled down, apparently sensing it would be a long wait…

"I will be fine," he assured him in a whisper, before he went into the garden, following his father's faint trail.

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**Read & Enjoy & Review,** please!


	3. Hope

_**Hope**_

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He felt _weak._ He had effectively masked his state before his son, but it wouldn't do anymore; he now understood why _hope_ was a forbidden thing, as his own lay shattered within his soul, the pieces sharp, cutting, hurting him deep… «Holding hands is nothing. I _always_ wanted more, _so much more._» It was tempting to let Vesca catch up with him again; he knew for a certainty that he'd head back to the building as soon as the detective was tended to. All it would take from D would be to _wait._ «I have already waited long enough!»

_Patience wasn't a virtue he possessed anymore; he'd lost it, along with his so-called sanity._

The task of seeing to his hand wasn't distracting enough; he kept everything in order within his private rooms, so it was just a matter of picking this and that up, and then using them. In an attempt to keep his mind from his memories and desires, he had bandaged his hand as well. _Too much_ for two tiny bites, but it had taken time and concentration to fit them in a comfortable way.

He now sat on his bed, the light dimming as a candle melted away upon the only empty desk he had left… and he had many of those pieces of furniture, as well as cabinets and shelves; more than _necessary._ It was just that he had them covered, all drawers full, with _things._ He never had the courage to throw anything away, fearing he would forget something if the object left his hands. And so he called them his _treasures,_ carriers of past memories he had grown fond of.

Most were from his year at the university: Albany, 1975-1976. Way over half of those were related to the group of young human students he had frequented, and, easily, the majority were objects he could relate to Vesca. He had many pictures, too! Again, mainly of him and Vesca, always several feet away from the other. «Such reluctance to come closer…» And he had been the one who had hesitated the most, while—

"Father?"

_Blessed be his child… and accursed as well. He had lived what he refused to, and he surely would cherish those memories he had not._

"Here," D called, before his son went on through the narrow hallway. Having built a garden had taken so much space… and he had completely forgotten to consider the rooms he would be needing. The result was that narrow corridor; it was cozy, though, in a mental hospital kind of way. "You seek that which might hurt you, my beloved son. Isn't that an unwise action?"

His son walked into the dimly-lit room, sitting besides him on the bed. "_Reckless,_ indeed."

"Just like _your detective,_" he purred, smirking. "Seems you were—"

"How is your hand, father?" The interruption made him glare at the turned face.

"_Better,_" he growled lowly. "And how fortunate is your _chimera_ not to be here right now… Did you kill it?" he added, thrilled by the sole idea, even when he knew it wasn't possible for it to become true. Not when…

"_Of course not!_" his son shrieked indignantly. "I left him guarding my suitcase," he muttered after he calmed down.

«Blessed privacy.» He forced those mismatched eyes to look at him. "I need to tell you so many things…"

"_Yes?_" his son prompted, sounding vaguely annoyed.

_Would he dare issue the warning, to deprive his child of the experience, as his own father had tried?_

"I'm envious," D sighed.

A confused look was all the reaction he got. "Of?"

He rose from the bed, and he walked over to one of his desks, turning and leaning against it. "I envy _you,_ my son," he purred, his child's dark lips parting, eyes widening, perhaps shocked, maybe scared… "Love hasn't hurt you, like hope has done to me." Confusion again.

"Love? _Hope?_" his voice sounded disbelieving. "Human emotions, father? What do _we_ have to do with _them?_"

"Your grandfather might think otherwise, for his convenience and the accomplishment of our duty, _yet,_ my son, _we also suffer from such ailments._"

His son seemed exasperated, and he turned to look at the melting candle. He didn't want to hear his words, that much was obvious; he'd stopped to, when he was taken away by his father, before he left the first time, to Hong Kong, not too far away… Still, he had to listen now; it was important, what D had to tell him. It was through the experience of the parents that the children learned, in nature, either by being taught, or carrying it within their genes.

_Knowledge of hope and of love, though, could not be transmitted before it was lived._

"You loved your detective." Not a question; an asseveration, a _fact._

"_What—?_" Indignation, mismatched eyes glaring with such intensity, they'd kill the sun.

"You also loved his younger brother." To that, his son was rendered speechless, and his face became a window, not a mirror or a mask, which opened to his own heart. _He did._ Nothing more, nothing less… "That is what I'm envious of," he added casually, turning to pick a framed photograph from the desk: at the zoo, by the penguins, Vesca frowning at the camera as D took the photo. It had been the winter after the Mediterranean, their second vacation together, yet on their own… «And it was all as cold as that snow.» He was to blame, of course; humans became kind to those they frequented, after all.

"You have _loved?_" his son inquired, bringing him back from his memories. He was now standing in the middle of the room, hiding the candle from view with his body, casting a deeper shadow upon him.

D chuckled humorlessly. "_No._ I wouldn't fall so low as to _love,_" he replied, obtaining no reaction. He dropped the tease. "Yet I have _hoped_ for so many things. Such an uncomfortable feeling…" Of not being able to interfere as much; of knowing he could only wait, most of the time. Of being just another toy for Fate to play with. "I have seen several realized," he continued, with a slightly happier tone, "but those that have not…"

The chance to see his child grow into the beautiful creature he was now; his father had kept him from it… All the animals and plants, their species at the border of extinction, that he had tried to save, using his acquired knowledge, and had failed miserably; the most recent, thanks to his own _son,_ yet he didn't hold a grudge… Vesca Howell, with whom the game had been several steps higher in the staircase of denial than advisable for any courting, even going as far as declaring each other a personal nemesis years later, during the chase…

And, of course, the cruelest of his wishes: their noble kind being restored to its former glory, project he still hoped would be successful, and that he was still working on with all his resources, _including_ his own body, as dangerous as it was for them all. Yet he had _learned_ from the humans, if it could be declared _true knowledge_ at all, and not wistful thinking, that one had to risk things to attain one's goals.

_Even one's own life, and the life of others, born… and yet unborn._

"It hurts," D muttered, closing his eyes as his vision blurred and they began to sting with the already well-known presence of tears. Since they weren't made for hope, deception had long ago accustomed him to _crying._ Still, that didn't mean he'd shed those tears… Not in front of his son, anyways; or with Vesca and the detective at the elevator's doors. «Hoping _isn't_ pretty.» Neither was getting shot, but he hadn't yet been stopped by a bullet, had he? It was _unfair_ those things _had_ to be so different from one another…

"Father?" A delicate finger brushed his cheek lightly, scooping the tear that had escaped one of his violet eyes.

"Don't touch me," he _sobbed;_ he had _never_ sobbed before!

"Father?" And he could tell his son had never _whimpered_ before, either. He dared looking, and he just _didn't_ like it, even when he'd sought for empathy for several years now; his son's face was streaked with tears, yet his eyes were… "Love hurts as well," he said simply, before he bit his dark lips closed.

"_How?_"

Mismatched eyes reflected great sorrow. "They took the child away… They took _Chris_ away!" his son's hands wiped at his tears. "And it wasn't _Leon_ the one who did. Had he been—That would have been better," he sighed, as if suddenly realizing he'd have liked it better that way. He stared at him blankly for a moment, and then _everything_ went downhill. "And you tried to kill him," his gaze darkened. "_You_ tried to _kill him,_" he growled this time.

There _truly_ wasn't a correct and _safe_ reply for this one, was there? "I'm… sorry?" he tried, just the same.

"No, you're _not!_" his son shrieked. "You lured him to the garden, and threw your animals at him. You intended him to become their day's meal, which he _almost_ did… And I'm pretty sure you would have sent him back had we _not_ appeared right then," he crossed his arms over his chest. "How would you like it if it had been _Agent Howell_ showing up like that, bleeding and hurt and _dying?_"

That brought forward a memory he just didn't _want_ anymore. "Your grandfather had the pleasure to do that to him," he muttered, looking away, "once," he added as an afterthought. When his research for Professor Fritz had been over, and he had been intending to _stay,_ already making plans and searching a viable place to live at, his father had shown up…

_He had just once before known such despair, yet, this time, things had ended in his favor._

And why think of such sad things, when they had ended well? Hadn't Vesca just left the building moments ago, still _alive?_ Even when the sandalwood box was left waiting, right _now_ he couldn't do anything short of sighing in relief for having found him on time back then. How fortunate the human didn't _remember_ the event, too… because he did, way too clearly.

"Grandfather did… what?" his son gasped, his eyes widening slightly, eyebrows set in a way that screamed _disbelief._

But he wasn't going back to that topic anytime soon. "Never mind," he sighed, finally letting go of the framed photo, placing it upon the desk, noticing the glass had cracked and was tinted in red. Curious, he looked down at his hand; apparently, he had gripped his poor treasure too hard… "I must say," he began once more, "that, even when I'm _glad_ I'm not the only one of us all who has ever _suffered,_ it is _painful_ to see it is _you_ the one who shares this with me."

"Worry not; sharing it with _you_ is shameful in its own way for _me._" His son walked past his side, and proceeded to examine the things that littered the desk's surface. "I _never_ wanted to be like you… yet, it would seem, we're way _too_ alike on this," he sighed, as he opened a sketch notebook and browsed through the pages.

Drawings he always forgot how _beautiful_ they were, until he saw them again, passed before their eyes. It had been a gift of Vesca's around springtime, after he decided buying him a camera of his own was too expensive; he'd reasoned he might as well _draw_ the animals and plants that were awaking once more… Of course, both had contributed to the collection of pictures here, in simple or color pencils. Occasionally, one would sketch the other, or he'd try to teach him some Chinese characters, so the contents were varied.

"A personal treasure," D whispered, a hand upon his son's shoulder.

The notebook was shut with the utmost care. "It would seem," his son replied, sweeping the desk again with his eyes, 

"as are all these things." He nodded. "I also have a treasure of my own; my first," he contributed, putting the notebook where it belonged. "Of this same nature, actually. A drawing."

"Oh, my! I didn't know your detective was an artist!" he teased.

He had stepped into forbidden territory, though. "Not _Leon's!_" his son protested. "It was from Chris," he added, his voice low in respect and in sorrow. "It was the only thing I found worthy of taking from the pet shop this time…"

"May I see it?"

The smile he was given, so honest and pure—"No." —had him hoping it'd be otherwise.

† ‡ † ‡ † ‡ †

It had taken some time, but they had managed to fit all that mattered into a pair of reasonably heavy suitcases… which had _also_ been full with other stuff his father had _never_ managed to find a place for. Everything else, he'd said, could stay where it was; those memories he didn't _need_ anymore would remain, probably to be found by Agent Howell whenever he returned.

«I hope he gets Leon to the hospital in time.» Somehow, now he dared to leave such thoughts loose in his mind. They didn't seem as terrible as before, as _dooming_ and unwanted and _tainted_ with humanity. "I'm heading east," D told his father. Might as well warn him, in case he had already been there…

"Doesn't matter," he replied, looking around the room for anything important he might be forgetting. "I'm sure your grandfather will want you out of the continent by the time we reach the coast, anyways."

Again with grandfather… "How can you be so sure?" His father chuckled amusedly.

"You're so innocently blind, my beloved son. It is a cute thing, but a dangerous one as well," he answered, smirking and letting his hair fall all around his face, most his features cast to the shadow. "Wouldn't hurt you to look over your shoulder occasionally, believe me!"

_So many hidden meanings… Yet they were valuable lessons he had to learn on his own, as well as the truth behind those words._

"Will you come along, wherever I go with the pet shop?"

"Most probably not." He was momentarily surprised by such an answer, before he decided that perhaps it was for the best. "I don't wish to go overseas; I've never been to Europe, but I know it to be a small place. And Asia is overpopulated already."

"What about Africa? Or Oceania?" His father wouldn't stay at the United States! Agent Howell, and probably also Leon, would know of him, and then he'd be arrested before he could even _blink._

The candle light wavered, the flame about to vanish, and his father gasped. "_None_ of us has _ever_ been to Australia. Am I mistaken?"

"No." All the koalas and kangaroos, among other native animal species, they possessed at the pet shop had been acquired through other means. "Are you planning to go there?" he inquired, smiling and clasping his hands at his front.

"_Maybe._" Which meant ‹yes.› "For that, though… I'd need to stay here, at the West Coast," his violet eyes became sad then. "I'll miss you."

"Don't stay in Los Angeles, though," D warned, beckoning his father to come closer.

"My beloved son," he chuckled again, "I'm just _insane,_ not _stupid._" He couldn't help it; he joined in the small, humorous laugh than ensued. "I will be careful," he promised a while later, brushing aside the hair that fell upon his golden eye.

"Be," D whispered. He leant forward and let their lips touch lightly in a chaste kiss, the likes of which he remembered his father giving him when he was a child.

_The only kisses they'd ever gotten on their whole lives…_

The candle melted away completely, and darkness fell in the room. They hurried outside, each taking a suitcase. Going down the narrow hallway, which reminded him, with a pang to his heart, to the hospitals he'd been to when Leon had been hurt, they soon were out in the greenish light of the garden. They both breathed in deep, secretly thankful to have left their discussion of love and hope behind, ready to go on… until they needed to return and share further; they knew they'd someday be caught in such a situation, but right _now—_

His father gasped, dropping the suitcase he'd been carrying. D turned around in haste, and saw him kneeling by a shrub of white hibiscus flowers, partially hidden from his view. He had both arms hugging right below his middle tightly, and he was letting himself down against the plant besides him. His hair hid his face as well, but he could tell his father was wincing in pain… "Father!" he hurried to his side.

"I'm… fine, son," he said weakly, holding up his hand at him, signaling not to come closer. "Just… go for your… suitcase and… that _chimera._" Never one to give up, was he?

"Will you be alright?" he was _worried,_ after all; nothing should cause them physical pain of a sudden, even when they'd just proved the emotional kind was possible. His father nodded. "Then, stay here," he knew further questioning would irritate his father.

As he was given another silent nod for an answer, D rose again and went back the way he had first gone into the inner rooms through. He caught the bitter scent of blood seconds later, yet decided against glancing over his shoulder at his father; death quickly followed, and he just increased the speed of his steps. The sooner he had his suitcase's handle grasped by his hands and Q-chan fluttering by his side, the better; he'd return to look after his father… and _not_ before that.

"Q-chan!" he called, just to make sure he had picked the right path. A squeak told him he had, so he hurried even more; he _ran._ "Q-chan, we're leaving," he said simply, thankful that his bat rabbit was already off the suitcase, which he picked up immediately. His pet landed upon his shoulder, loyal as always—

_Hadn't his father mentioned he should look over his shoulder and see?_

He did as he'd been told, not really sure why he was giving his father's passing comments any value. Q-chan's eyes met his, and his mismatched gaze killed the eagerness on the bat rabbit's little face. And, suddenly, those tiny black orbs weren't as dark as they were bright and golden… "How do you manage to sleep at night, knowing what you do?" he asked, bothered and slapping the little creature off his shoulder. "I can't believe what you're doing!"

Q-chan looked at him confusedly, tilting his head to the side and putting on an expression of extreme innocence, while pointing at his small chest with a paw, squeaking cutely. ‹Who? Me?› D could almost hear him ask.

"Yes, _you!_" D sighed as that only elicited another random squeak, instead of the _words—_"Grandfather, please…"—he knew were within the capabilities of his ‹pet.›

_He hadn't truly expected it to become true right before his eyes, though._

The sound of the tiny bat wings fluttering was replaced by the rustle of a long, heavy, black cloak of unknown material. He remembered it too well… "I can't believe you _lied_ to _me,_" he declared first thing, not letting the cloaked male speak.

"You were too young to be left alone," his grandfather justified himself. "I was worried about you."

"So said my father, the stalker," he growled lowly. "Your method, though, was more original, though less _sane,_" he added. After all, had he not slept besides him on his own pillow? Wasn't him always eating sweets from his hand, that he'd previously bitten, or licked even, himself? And always poised on his shoulder, _so close…_ All that _he_ saw, so had his grandfather. All that he _heard,_ too.

He couldn't see his grandfather's face, but the frown carried to his dark lips. "Don't compare us," he warned in _that_ tone of voice, making sure the topic would be dropped. "And hadn't I been by your side all that time, you would be dead by now. You're so careless, and so reckless…" D glared, letting his suitcase down again. "No wonder you associated with _that detective._"

"Who, at least, _never_ lied to me when helping me out." His grandfather turned to face him; he'd said he was staring, but he couldn't be quite sure. "He was just in denial," he explained quickly, before he was reminded of Leon's true reasons to be at the pet shop in the first place. «At least, I _think_ he was…» Chris's presence at the pet shop for nearly a year was the most obvious hint towards that possibility.

"Good Heavens, he better _not!_" his grandfather exclaimed.

"Do you prefer him following me with intentions of arrest?" He couldn't believe it…

"_Yes,_ I do." Then he smirked again, clasping his hands together, yet keeping them hidden underneath his cloak. "After all, we can bend human law to our convenience. You'd be free before he could even _begin to understand_ he caught you."

"Free to return to your pet shop," D clarified what was left unsaid. "A _prison_ I'm already used to, yet a prison just the same… No wonder father left," he muttered.

"All he touches, he spoils," his grandfather sighed dramatically, thing that vaguely reminded him of his own father. They were _truly_ all the _same,_ weren't they? "And he didn't only _touch_ you, he actually _kissed_ you!" Both his hands were keeping his face in place suddenly; they were cold, _unbelievably_ so…

"How did you—?"

"It's called _age,_ my child. Even when many think I might be a clairvoyant, I assure you it's only accumulated experience."

_Old and all-knowing without physically aging… And he would be the same way, someday._

"Let's leave now, my dearest grandson." He spoke with the tenderness he remembered from his childhood, and he was tempted to agree and leave on his command, yet…

"Father," he gasped. He pulled on the cloak of his retreating grandfather. "My father! He's—I fear that he might be—!" _Hurt. Dying._ And away from them while he was either or both. "He must still be in the garden…"

His grandfather held him in place, though, and he struggled for a moment before surrendering to his will. "He will be fine," he assured him. "This is something he has brought upon himself many times in the past, and he has yet to be weakened by it. I'd even dare saying it has increased his endurance."

"Is he ill?" he inquired, worried, remembering the quantity of medicinal tea he'd found in that cabinet, and the little closet he'd passed by in the narrow hallway, with boxes and bottles of items that went beyond the level, not only quantity, of a simple first aid kit.

"He enjoys of a rather marvelous health… _physical_ health," he corrected himself. "Yet he finds his daily amusement in his genetic engineering lab; at times, he'll become his own test subject…" D gasped, and his grandfather shook his head lightly. "Indeed, he does what he should not. And, for that—"

"—a price is to be paid," they finished together. Just like when judging humankind, he was now put before his father's sins. «His only sin is hope.» He found no other crime. «Mine is love.» He had just discovered. «And grandfather's fault? Which might that be?» Did he even _have_ one? Could it be a flaw of his father only, which would forever taint their kind? «No…» The origin had to be higher up their family tree…

"Pick your case, and follow me," his grandfather ordered with an unusually gentle voice, caressing his cheek lightly with ice-cold fingers. D didn't have anything left to say against it. Or, more likely, nothing else to tell his grandfather at all.

He obeyed, his movements nearly automatic. The way his suitcase was light, when his father's had been _so heavy,_ without mentioning they were _two,_ was a reminder for him: he could have loved, but it was _over._ Chris was gone, Leon was gone, and, in some minutes, so would he; nothing was left of it, asides from feather-light memories… His father had clung to his hope like he clung to him whenever he saw him; in more ways than one, it had weighed him down.

_Still, after such a moment alone and together, sharing their dreams, he suddenly came to the realization his short life was what kept him so pure._

"Your treasure is the pet shop," he abruptly said, without meaning to. His grandfather stopped dead on his tracks, but didn't turn. "We didn't have a pet shop before you." They had traded and gifted animals and plants to humans for a long while of their history, but a _shop_ had never figured there… His own grandfather had even admitted that in the past. "It is _yours_ for a reason."

"_Very clever,_" the bitterness in that didn't beat the curiosity that overtook him then: what was his grandfather's sin, anyways? "Again, no wonder you associated with that detective."

"_Leon._ The name of ‹that detective› is _Leon,_" he couldn't believe he was actually _chuckling_ that. But he felt relief. «My father and I… We're not the only ones.» Even when it would be difficult to take it out of his grandfather's lips. _Very_ difficult. "Let's go look for my father; I'm sure he'll appreciate the company while he waits for a reasonable medium and hour to depart for Australia." Then, he and his grandfather would head East, if they still desired to by then, moving the pet shop along until they reached another safe spot where to set their home at.

The leaves in the garden were rustled by approaching beings, which left the shadows to gather around them both. His father came afterward, carrying both heavy cases on his own, and looking _insanely_ enthusiastic… "Hello, father, son," he greeted, placing his things besides his son's, and then doing a mock bow at his father. "Sorry for being late, but I was forgetting I had to do something before we left."

"You weren't wearing those clothes a moment ago," D noticed, remembering the scent of blood as he walked away from his father.

"Those weren't fit for traveling," his father said, waving a hand dismissively. The hand Q-chan… _grandfather_ had bitten, as strange as it sounded. The bandage was tinted in red, yet superficially; no wound that could be underneath had caused it, which could only mean—"Father, could you _please_ do me a favor?"

His grandfather turned from where he'd been petting a young dragon to face him. "_Depends_ on the favor."

"It's small. Tiny," his father childishly replied, even putting his clasped hands against his dark lips.

"Doesn't say much… Go on."

"Would you take my pets with you? It's taken me time to breed them all, and effort too… Yet they can't come with me this time."

His grandfather didn't ask why; perhaps he already knew. D himself wished to know, though, but he thought it'd be rude to break in between the pair. "Understood. I'll see to them."

_So like when his father had let Leon and Agent Howell leave…_

"Perfect!" his father _squealed,_ clapping his hands and then reaching for his full suitcases again. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

D sighed as he lifted his own from the floor, looking at his grandfather's rustling cloak as he entered the garden, followed by his father's waving long hair, both being shadows darker than those created by the lush plant life… «Yet also the lights that guide my path.» He walked in after them.

† ‡ † ‡ † ‡ †

**Read & Enjoy & Review,** please!

Thanks to all those that have reviewed so far! We are still missing the Epilogue, by the way... This is not over yet! (stay tuned for the next update XD)


	4. Dreams

_**Dreams**_

† ‡ † ‡ † ‡ †

_He'd just been joking back then. He should have known the guy was as deluded as to actually listen._

After leaving the kid detective at the hospital, Vesca had drove back to _that_ building at top speed, hoping against all hopes D and his son wouldn't be gone by then. Unfortunately, that was a bunch of wistful thinking; D had made a rather lame attempt at leveling the towering thing to the ground, just managing to detonate his rented floors at the very top, but he was _as sure as Hell_ not up there anymore… Or, at least, not in recognizable pieces.

People had been evacuated already, and the low-rank authorities surrounding the building still advised against approaching, in case there were other bombs hidden. They were passing this as an act of terrorism, too… «Just another thing to add to his file.» One of the few things he'd never found ties to before, actually. Now, though—«That bastard's going to rot in prison.» Specially since, there, he'd not find whichever girly items he used to stay so…

Okay, he just _wasn't_ going to think of that word. _Not_ to describe _that_ guy, at least! Not now that he knew he was such a wicked man… He should have suspected he'd become a criminal right away, when they had studied together at Albany, what with his misanthropic ways and his reluctance to be _normal._ Culture clash just didn't cover his weirdness, after all.

"FBI," he growled at some kid officer who tried to send him back behind the yellow tape. The guy retreated; a _wise_ move. He just wasn't feeling like dealing with anything remotely _human_ right now, with D gone like that. The bastard always made him feel he was on the wrong side of the battle… But which other side existed? _None._

He heard to half-made reports of damages and probable artifacts used in the explosion from other officers, before he lost it and demanded to know if they'd seen D get out of the building. Only thing he got was that: "Yes, Agent Howell. A witness described a wo—eh, person like that leaving the place, minutes before the explosion, yet—"

"Where's the witness?" No use hearing to the whole story; even when he got paid for it, he had other things he rather be doing. Figuring out whether D had taken his son with him, like a good parent would, or had left him to die in the explosion, like the villain he was, for example…

The kid had been weird, with all those animals following him around as if he was a Disney princess, and he'd _looked_ the part, though not as much as his long-haired father, but he'd been kind and polite and, _damn it,_ innocent. The kid had been _beautiful, kind,_ and _innocent;_ had he been a girl… That would be nothing less than trouble for anyone involved, in every sense.

He'd better _still_ be alive, or D would have it _worse_ than already planned and mentally rehearsed a thousand times in the past twenty years! Even if the kid _was_ a product of his research, as he suspected, that didn't mean the guy had any right to do with his life as he pleased. Besides, there was still the issue of the ‹mother,› a being so necessary for artificially created life as it was for the natural… except for plants and bacteria, but those were _humans_ he was talking about! Whoever the mother might be—

_Hadn't D mentioned, before he let them go, though, that he'd achieved it?_

Nonsense! The guy was obviously high on the drugs he traded, if he was walking around believing such crazy lies… And that suitcase must have hit his head harder than he thought, if he had actually _listened,_ knowing only madness came out of those lips.

"Here," the guiding officer indicated, after taking him to a nearby building, where the traumatized yet unwounded victims were at.

He was at this little coffee break room, and the woman was sitting in there, her back to the door. She was one of those young, pretty things one usually saw behind desks and counters at fancy hotels and restaurants, he could tell, 

but he'd become a _true penguin_ on the spot before he got distracted whilst seeking for clues about D's whereabouts. And wouldn't the bastard be amused at such thing?

"Good afternoon, miss," he gruffly greeted as he sat down across from her at the table. She looked up at him, big brown eyes _pleading_ him to believe _her_ story: she wasn't involved. He _knew_ for a fact she wasn't. "I've been told you saw a man exiting the building about five minutes before the bomb exploded. Am I right?"

She shuddered. "Y-Yes… though I didn't know he was a _man._" He could understand that, of course; half the university guys had been head over heels for D, and he'd had to very clearly and slowly tell each of his friends he was a _guy,_ before any strange incidents occurred. And he'd always wondered _what_ confused people so… He'd never inquired, though, and now was not the time to think about it, anyways; he might as well save it for taunting him as he stood behind the bars.

"Well… Tell me what did he do while still in the lobby," he ordered, and she cowered before his deep frown.

Next time she spoke, though—He wasn't expecting that: "Are you the FBI Agent, Vesca Howell?" she asked.

Taken aback, he didn't answer for a whole minute or two, suddenly suspicious this girl might have something to do with D, instead of just being a witness of when he fled. "Why do you ask, miss?" Straightforward when _scared,_ wasn't he? After seeing what D had done to the kid detective… _Hell,_ he wasn't over sending him a pretty assassin girl!

"Uh… He left something for you, mister," she squeaked timidly, reaching for the folded card, which she put upon the table. He didn't touch it. "Eh… He said to give it to you, if you came." Too much of a coincidence, if you asked _him,_ that they had spoken to the _same woman._

Still, he took the card, noticing it was actually some rather old photograph. Unfolding it, he almost chocked on the air he was breathing. «The zoo penguins!» Winter, 1975. Not Albany, but he didn't quite remember where they had gone off to, either. Shared a room there for a week; fortunately, _not_ the beds. And D had never stopped whining. _Ever._ Until taken to the zoo. And then all the snow-covered parks. And a lake. Thing was: he didn't remember the city, because he'd been too busy complying to D's every whim to be in ‹holy communion› with a frozen over Mother Nature.

_On top of that, he'd never worn the same outfit twice, and it was Vesca the one stuck with carrying the luggage, too._

God, no wonder they'd teased them _that much_ at school, now that he thought about it. «Blessed be the hindsight.» If he could go back in time, _everything_ would have been so different. _Completely_ different, actually…

He analyzed the picture now, noticing the characters written with fine tip marker all over it, somehow blending in with the surroundings, not disturbing the image's harmony. They were Chinese characters, and they all read ‹I hate.› The patch of sky, the frozen railings, the corner of the bench and the trashcan. Even the poor penguin and all his family had it written right in the middle of their white bellies. The guy was truly insane, wasn't—_No._ There were _other_ characters, which meant _another_ completely different thing: ‹I love.›

The image of him when young was covered with those: his jacket, his scarf, his hands, his hair, his face… ‹I love› all over him. «My… God…» He couldn't even think straight anymore. He brushed his fingertips lightly against the picture—

The characters blurred. They were new, and were still relatively fresh. Which meant… He flipped the photograph over, and found a message he'd missed when he'd first taken it from the girl, since it was written in that overly-fancy letter he'd only seen D manage without difficulty; even in his school notebooks, it was difficult to see the annotations, unless one was specifically looking for them. This message was in English, though: ‹My dearest penguin, be good and bring a ring, and I'll feed you eucalyptus by the coral reef.›

"_What the Hell!_" The chair fell back, and the young woman in the room hid beneath the table. He didn't care, though. He was too busy _thinking,_ wondering if he might have gone mad in the last seconds or so… even when the guy who'd written the cryptic message was the one insane.

_Because it just couldn't be that D had left a clue of his whereabouts this time._

And that, if he was not mistaken, the bastard wanted him to _propose… _«Tough luck, D.» Because _he_ wasn't _gay._

† ‡ † ‡ † ‡ †

It had taken him two weeks to get out of the hospital. It'd take a month or so more to be able to walk without the help of that dumb crutch they'd so _kindly_ provided, but, at least, he wasn't bound to that bed anymore. The inability to just _get away_ from that place had been _maddening,_ specially when, under his request, Jill had brought the latest reports on D's case.

He'd had the suspicion the bastard would be running away again, like the cowardly cat he was. And the whispers between Agent Howell and D's old man… He just _knew_ they had discussed it as well, probably something along the lines of: ‹Darling, I'm leaving! Do follow,› and ‹Didn't get to use the handcuffs on you this time.›

_Because those two just had to be gay!_

After all, one didn't throw twenty years worth of life away to follow one guy all over the country without intending to fuck him senseless when he finally found him. It was a theme often seen in romantic movies… which he _didn't_ watch, just had been told; except those cases were all _straight,_ _not_ all gay. And, damn, such long waits to get laid could only work on fiction, not in _real life; _no wonder D's old man had said Agent Howell must be ‹sexually frustrated,› really! Especially when he was the one who'd caused it in the first place…

How fortunate he'd been strong enough to push _D_ away when he'd tried all those girly tricks on him, probably prompted to do so by daddy, who'd already converted the weak-minded FBI Agent into a faggot-in-denial. Surely, the Count's father had found it _so amusing,_ and had thought his son would do well in having his own sick fun with _him…_ It'd explain why D _always_ tried to get rid of his stuff, and frowned whenever a pretty, real-life chick showed any interest in him. And also why he dressed and put on make-up like one.

«Hell, the guy was some creepy bastard.» Suddenly, he had the impulse to call his little brother and make _sure_ he still found _true _girls, at least, ‹nice.› Except… «He would have _never!_» D wouldn't do _anything_ to Chris, he was convinced of that, entirely sure; he might sell drugs to hundreds, trade thousands of illegal slaves, and kill millions, regardless of gender and age, but he'd _never_ touch Chris, or lure him out of the path of the right and straight, double sense intended. Still, that didn't keep him from throwing himself, all flirty and purring like a cat, at the oldest of the Orcot brothers, did it? «The goddamned bastard liked playing ‹house› with us. Should have gotten him some Barbies, not sweets…»

And so, he'd better get his mind away from those thoughts, if he was going to get anything done on the case. D might have escaped the city, and maybe even the country, but he was still a criminal, and Leon _had_ to make sure he was put behind the bars, for the well-being of all humanity… because he just _knew_ the guy wasn't _entirely human,_ at least. He had his suspicions put between ‹vampires,› because the Count and his old man had admitted being _friends_ with other bloodsuckers, or ‹aliens,› given their astounding physical similarities.

_Hell, they might even asexually reproduce, like bacteria! Split into two, or something…_

That'd make them ‹genderless,› which wouldn't surprise him much, since, no matter how much D whined he was a _man,_ he just failed to look the part, or _act_ it, even. And the labels ‹cross-dresser› and ‹transsexual› had long become too short to come to describe the Count. He was _that_ weird. Come to think of it, ‹Chinese› didn't cover him either anymore…

When he _finally_ got to the station, having walked and used public transport given that he couldn't _drive,_ leg handicap a courtesy of D's dad, he'd already went through all his memories of the Count, and had _yet_ to come to a conclusion on _any_ matter about him. Of course, if he was intending to get any clue as to what to do next to bring his dream of _arresting_ the guy to reality, he'd need to put it all aside for the time being. After all, _everyone_ would be reluctant to let him into the case again, seeing what had happened to him over it, and he'd need all his energy focused on being _demanding_ if—

Truth was he hadn't expected to see _Agent Howell_ at the office today; he'd thought he'd already gone off after D's old man, all loyal puppy dog and stuff. The atmosphere was charged, and the frowns weren't dropped for a while, as they just _glared_ at each other. _Why?_ Because the other had already proven he was an impediment more…

"Detective Orcot."

"Agent Howell."

Silently after the greeting, they sat across each other at the desk. Nobody else was there, in the chief's office, and Leon suspected the agent had _known_ he'd come today, and that he'd asked for the privacy here. "They died in the explosion."

He chuckled humorlessly. "What a _lie._"

"_Had_ to try." More silence, and he dragged from the corner two barely closed folders; they were overflowing with papers. "Theirs," he explained, pushing aside one. "That one's yours, and," he handed him the other, "this is _mine._"

Leon opened it, unable to hold back his curiosity; he nearly growled at the small photo of D's father, which was attached to the first set of pages, which were, presumably, his basic profile. There wasn't much information: missing the birth date, blood type, names of parents… and, of course, _his true name._ «They _have_ to have a name, damn it!» His own files were also missing that information, and some other. For example, he didn't know if D had any bachelor degree on _anything,_ or the name of the university he'd studied at. Hell, maybe he hadn't _ever_ gone to school, and he ignored it! "Genetic engineering, huh?" he muttered. «What for?»

"Yes," Howell seemed amused. Whichever face he'd just put on, he sure looked _comical_ to the guy.

"Met him at SUNY, too, didn't you?" he threw at him, lowly growling. He wasn't going to get mocked at by a forty-something, rather sad excuse of an agent.

He looked taken aback, but then he chuckled. "You're a smart kid."

"Thanks, _pops._" He wasn't going to let _that_ bother him anymore.

Instead, the agent was the one offended; he didn't say anything on the matter, though. "Yet you haven't been _smart enough._" Before Leon could protest, he added: "You're _here,_ after all." He rose to his feet, disdainfully looking down at him, who'd have to support himself to do so. "You should already know this is _too much_ for you to handle; you'd be a rather foolish boy, if you followed him."

"Like you did?"

A vague hint of sadness invaded the agent's eyes, and he glanced away. "One is sacrifice enough for those bastards, don't you think?" he sighed. He seemed to think _that_ was enough to keep him away from the case…

_But he wasn't one to give up on things like these!_

Leon stood up, hand gripping the desk. "If you're going, take me with you," he growled in defiance.

"Don't think so, kid." Just a look over his shoulder, as if he wasn't _worthy_ enough to be faced.

Agent Howell left the office, and Leon followed, grunting as he was forced into a slower pace than the older man. All the guys at the station just stared, and he thought he heard Jill call his name, but he'd _not_ listen to them, or feel _awkward_ with their disapproval and their pity. His blue eyes were fixed on the turned back, and he wasn't going to let it get lost from his view anytime this century.

He reached the lift the man had taken before the doors closed. "Go back, kid," the agent grumbled, fishing through his pockets for lighter and cigarettes, to be ready for the outdoors. "Even that bastard warned you about it, remember? And little boys like you'd do better obeying and staying at home with their mom—"

He tackled him against the lift's wall, glaring. "_You _shut _up,_ or _I'll_ do it for you, permanently!"

"I can get _you_ fired," Howell shrugged, chuckling at the show of moderate violence, main actor being a mid-twenties LA detective; the guy being an FBI Agent, surely he found it amusing… because Leon did _not._

"_You_ take me with you, if you're so _worried, pops,_" he growled. "I'm going either way."

Howell pushed him away, straightened him up, and looked fixedly at the opening doors as they reached the lobby. "Don't think so. Even if I have to put _you_ behind the bars before I do _them,_ you're _not_ coming, and _not_ going."

The older man's strides were way to quick for Leon at the moment, and he cursed his luck as the agent got to his car and opened the door. "_Wait, Howell!_" he yelled.

_It was a shock that he actually listened and did as told._

"I'm quitting the FBI sometime this week," he casually said as Leon approached. "No jurisdiction outside of this country."

"Think they already fled?" he panted, leaning against the car, surprised he'd gotten exhausted over _walking._ Seemed the time at the hospital, and using a crutch to go around, were going to hinder him _too much._

"I _know_ they already left," he lighted a cigarette. "They were seen at the airport that same day they detonated the bomb at D's building."

Utter confusion. "Which D?"

"_Mine._" God, he was _truly_ gay, or he was just seeking to scare the grim mood around them away.

"Oh," he simply replied. "Becoming a freelancer?"

Howell got around the car, leaving the door ajar, and he unlocked the passenger's side. "Yes." He opened it wide for Leon. "You'd do well to do the same, if you're planning to arrest your D."

«Sounds like a secret sect or brotherhood or something…» Only they knew, and only they followed, after all. «And what's with those terms? ‹Mine,› ‹yours›?» Even if it was _easier_ to identify the nameless bastards, it was still a little bit too uncomfortable for him… «They might not be humans, but they're _not_ possessions.»

"Besides, American authorities aren't well liked out of our country's boundaries."

"And are we within?"

"No." The mood brightened considerably.

They got in the car without another word. The silence wasn't charged now; wasn't uncomfortable either. Each was planning, while the world outside passed in a blur by the car's windows, the people there unknowing of the mysteries of a pair of Chinese men, the mad scientist and the pet shop caretaker…

"Where are they now?" he asked casually as they got a red light.

"_Australia._" He sounded so sure. _Hell,_ maybe D's old man had told him, after all!

"How do you know?"

"That doesn't concern young cops like you."

He didn't want to go into the cheesy and clichéd lines with the guy, but it seemed nothing else would help him now… "Look, Howell, if we're going to work together on this, we've got to—"

"—start working like a team." _God,_ nothing worse than having it finished in unison like _that!_ Leon looked out his window, hoping the agent wouldn't see him blushing awkwardly. "We're not _equals_ yet, kid," Howell chuckled, and it got to green light. "I've no obligation of _any kind_ to share my sources of information with you."

"Not yet," Leon grumbled.

"Not yet," Howell agreed, nodding.

The detective glanced at him, blond eyebrow up. "And when we are, will you tell me?"

Howell actually laughed. "Don't get so ahead of yourself, kid!"

Leon didn't get anything else of importance from the agent that day. Or the following. Or during the week… Until they quit their jobs, applying for an international license to keep doing the _only_ thing they could and had interest on doing; it _wasn't_ ‹protecting the innocent,› of course. It was more along the lines of ‹following those Chinese faggots and putting them behind the bars, any place they might be hidden at.›

_Indeed, arresting D and his father, even if they had to go all across the world to find them._

The ex-agent revealed his reasons to believe they _might_ be in Australia. Hell, he even shared his undocumented experiences with D's old man at the university! «Damn, their weirdness must be _genetic_ by now…»

Yet Vesca Howell refused to answer any questions of Leon Orcot's of _why_ he'd bought a ring before they left for Sydney.

† ‡ † ‡ † ‡ †

_**The End**_

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I really _hope_ you enjoyed this story;  
I personally did _love_ writing it, and  
I _dream_ of the day when you may  
let me know whether you liked it or not.  
**_Do review, please._**


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